


Say Your Prayers and Light a Fire

by Nopride4531



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, And all the dogs lived and are partners in crime, Angst, But God at what cost?, Eventual Happy Ending, Freddy gets put through the wringer and I'm sorry, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I.E. Freddy started out as a cop but changed his mind, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, but like not NOT shippy, not really shippy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopride4531/pseuds/Nopride4531
Summary: It's a few days after their latest heist, and Freddy never showed at the rendezvous. Larry doesn't think much of it--delays happen--until somebody leaves a photograph at the hotel room door.The kid's in trouble. And in their line of work, "trouble" can lead to "dead" very, very fast.
Relationships: Mr. Blonde/"Nice Guy" Eddie Cabot, Mr. Orange & Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs), Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Say Your Prayers and Light a Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Okay okay okay. First of all, Tarantino did NOT have to make Freddy such a soft boy. But he DID, which means I get to put him through the wringer. Those are the rules. 
> 
> Second, This isn't meant to be explicitly shippy, but it can be if you want to read it that way. I'm still on the fence about White/Orange, but this fic wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, so *shrug*
> 
> Third, Freddy was a cop prior to the start of this fic, but he warned the dogs before the heist, and everybody got away, lived, and welcomed him into their ranks... For the sake of my sanity. Suspension of disbelief y'all. 
> 
> And finally, I'M SO SORRY.

They made a narrow escape, but all escapes are narrow when bullets start flying, and considering none of them found their mark, Larry decides it might have been a good day after all. Whatever made Joe decide ripping off a drug lord was worthwhile, he'll never know. Must've been some bad blood between them. And if the blood is sour enough to piss off Joe Cabot, then it's sour enough to piss off the rest of the boys. But hey: job's done, nobody died, and now Larry, Mr. Brown, and Mr. Pink are safely at the rendezvous.

It's an old hotel. Mr. Brown was--and still is--ecstatic about the old-timey elevator with the cage and crank. There's an operator, too. Larry doesn't like thinking about the margin of human error, about how it would take one easy mistake for the cage to plummet, but he pushes it aside. He's calm. Has to be. Next to him, Mr. Pink is a nervous wreck.

"Fuck man," Pink says. "I fuckin' hate elevators. Couldn't we have just taken the stairs?"

Larry gives him a look. "We're on the tenth floor." 

"Your point?"

"Hey," Mr. Brown points out. "Look down. You can't even see the floor anymore."

Pink groans and shuts his eyes. "I'm gonna die."

"No you're not," Larry tells him, a little exasperated. Still, the words remind him of a similar time, a while ago now, but with Mr. Orange--Freddy. Larry tries not to think about that day too often. Kid nearly bled to death in his arms, and that sort of thing messes with the head. 

The elevator finally pulls up to the tenth floor. Mr. Pink is the first one out as soon as the gate opens, followed by Brown, then Larry. He tips the operator and lingers back a second. 

"We're waiting on one more," he says. "He's a scrawny little shit and probably wearing a jacket that's way too big for him." Larry hands the operator another five. "Can't miss him. Make sure he knows where we are."

The operator, some guy in his thirties who looks like he hates his job, nods. "Sure thing."

Larry starts after Mr. Pink and Mr. Brown. He never bothered learning their real names, and they never bothered telling him. They know his, but that's mostly because Larry hates that anonymous crap. But he played along for Joe and they all walked away happy. Better than things usually go.

"I can't believe I have to share a room," Mr. Pink is muttering to himself. He sees Larry walking down the hall and gestures at him. "How come you get one to yourself and I'm stuck with this sack of shit?"

"Oh excuse me, are you the one paying the bill?" Larry shoves past Pink toward his door. "No? Alright then. Quit complaining."

He's already into the room when he hears Pink mumble something under his breath. Larry doesn't really care what he says. He shuts the door behind him and sits on the bed with a groan. He's absolutely exhausted, now that the adrenaline from the job's worn off. And, to make things worse, there's a small knot forming in his stomach. Call it instinct, but he only gets it when something isn't right. Joe would call him paranoid. Freddy, too. But considering neither one of them are here, Larry's left to his own thoughts.

Freddy hadn't shown at the rendezvous. Mr. Brown and Mr. Pink had, both within five minutes of each other. Larry hopes the kid is just late. After all, it was the first job he'd pulled since... well, since the diamonds. 

Talk about shock. Larry could still remember how his goddamn heart nearly stopped when Freddy told him the truth, that he was a cop and was supposed to tip off others to the heist, but hadn't. And then he'd taken a bullet meant for Larry, shot by some good samaritan trying to play cowboy. 

Larry would be lying if he said he hadn't considered leaving Freddy behind. He'd betrayed him--and that stung. But hell, the kid had saved his life and was bleeding out and goddammit, Larry couldn't. He just couldn't. 

But that was months ago. Water under the bridge, though convincing Joe of that had taken every ounce of persuasion Larry could summon. But he had. Somehow, he had, and here they all are. Safe. Happy. _Alive._

He sighs and leans back on the bed. He'll give Freddy another couple hours, then see if Joe heard anything. Any luck, the kid's already on his way. 

* * *

Wherever he is, it's dark. Dark, wet, and _cold._ All the worst things anybody can imagine after they've just been hit. 

Freddy groans and tries to shift into a more comfortable position. He can't see anything, but he can feel. Oh God, he can _feel..._ and it's like somebody's dragged him through a meat grinder. He can hear something dripping. Dimly, he hopes it's water and not blood from... from... well, wherever it is he's bleeding. Because he's definitely bleeding; he just can't figure out why.

It takes him a moment, but he eventually realizes he's sitting. Okay, that's a bit of a nicer statement than reality. Reality is, he's tied to a chair. Ropes dig into his wrists and ankles, and he can already feel the beginnings of burns. He tries to flex his fingers, but the moment he moves them, pain flares and he cries out. The sound is muffled by the gag stuffed in his mouth, but it's there nonetheless. Something's broken. He doesn't know if it's his fingers, hands, or all of the above, but whatever it is, it hurts like a bitch.

"You're awake."

He hears the voice, deep and slow and way too close to his ear. Without much thought, he shies away from it--and only then does he realize he's been blindfolded. His chest constricts.

Blind. Can't move. Can't talk. This isn't good.

"I was wondering when that'd happen," the voice continues. "Thought maybe my boys roughed you up a little too much."

Freddy takes a deep breath, in and out. He needs to stay calm. Staying calm will help him. Staying calm will keep him alive. Staying calm is what Larry would do.

"Me and Joe Cabot go back a long time." The voice is circling him now, vulture-like. "Never thought he'd have the guts to make a move on me. After all..."

Something nudges Freddy's injured hands, and he can't help his scream as white hot agony flares beneath his skin.

"... I always move back."

Once the pain fades, Freddy tries to think. This must be the drug lord he and the guys had ripped off. This must be Big Frank Muller. 

Panic threatens to overwhelm him for a moment. He'd heard about Big Frank from his time in the force--and the guy's nothing if not ruthless. Twisted. Tortures and kills for pleasure. Nobody's caught him because none of his victims survive long enough to get an ID. And Freddy's absolutely powerless, completely at his mercy... or lack thereof.

"Let's get down to business," Big Frank says casually, and Freddy's head snaps sideways as a big, meaty fist slams into his jaw. "Gotta make you look pretty for the camera."

_Camera?_ Freddy thinks dizzily, then feels the skin on his cheek split with another punch. _What the hell is this guy going on about?_

When he can focus again, having lost count of how many hits he took, his face is throbbing and undoubtedly swollen. He hears the click, then winding of a disposable camera, and has maybe two seconds to breathe before Big Frank starts talking.

"Cabot's going to love this," he murmurs. There's a pause, during which Freddy can feel his heart racing, and then: "Dimmick, too."

Freddy's blood goes cold for a split second before he starts struggling. Now? Now he understands. He shouts against the gag, choice words and insults that would make his mother roll over in her grave. But they're useless. The next thing he knows, something hits the back of his head and he begins to lose consciousness again.

_Larry,_ he thinks before he goes under. _Stay safe. Please stay safe._

* * *

It's roughly around eight pm when Larry wakes up to a knock on his door. He groans and wipes the sleep from his eyes, then checks the phone. There aren't any messages. He frowns and sits up, the knot in his stomach coming back with a vengeance. The front desk is supposed to call him when Freddy shows--and they haven't yet. He doesn't know what that means, if it means anything at all, but he can't help but think something's wrong.

"Goddammit, White, open up!" Mr. Pink's voice sounds muffled through the door as he pounds on it again. There's also something lacing his tone that Larry doesn't like. It sounds too much like raw panic. 

That's enough for Larry to fumble into motion. He stands and makes his way over to the door, undoing the deadbolt and wrenching it open in time for Pink to walk through uninvited. His shoulders are bunched with worry, and he's followed quickly by Mr. Brown. 

"What the hell's going on?" Larry demands as he shuts the door and refastens the lock. 

"Did you hear anybody out in the hall?" Pink asks, nervously wringing his hands together. "Because we didn't, but somebody was definitely there, man. Somebody was definitely fucking there and they left that fucking picture and _shit shit shit!"_

Larry holds his hands up and grabs Pink's arm to stop him from pacing. "Slow down. What in fuck's name are you talking about?"

Mr. Pink gives him a look that Larry doesn't like, but says nothing. Instead, it's Mr. Brown who speaks as he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a photograph. 

"He's talking about this," Brown says distantly.

He hands Larry the picture--slow, as if Larry will chop his hand off if he's not careful. At first, Larry isn't sure what he's seeing--it's dark and his mind doesn't want to believe anything anymore. But then the clouds clear, and his breath hitches painfully.

Freddy. Tied to a chair. Beaten and bloody. Blindfolded and gagged. And the look on his face... the _pain on his face...._

His hands move on their own accord, and Larry flips the photo over. Scrawled on the back, written in cheap ink and even cheaper handwriting, is today's date, followed by a crude drawing of a clock. It doesn't take him long to get the message, and he feels himself going cold all over. 

"This is fucked up, man," Mr. Pink hisses as he starts pacing again. "This is so fucked up." He turns to Mr. Brown. "It's fucked up."

Brown nods in silent agreement. Then he turns toward Larry, who's flipped the picture over again. He can't stop looking at it. He feels Brown's eyes on him, followed by Pink's, and the scrutiny and quiet fear threaten to overwhelm him. 

But he regains control. And when he speaks, he's suddenly not Larry Dimmick anymore. He's Mr. White--and his boy's just been stolen. 

"Get Joe on the phone. _Now."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three absolute truths:
> 
> 1\. Freddy is in for a bad time  
> 2\. Larry is gonna go ballistic  
> 3\. Mr. Pink is an absolute mood
> 
> I'm a simple bisexual. I see a hardened criminal who is soft for his friend/lover, and I go feral. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hopefully going to have part two up by tomorrow. Reviews and kudos mean the world!


End file.
